


the more that you say, the less i know

by enragedbisexual



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Get Together, First Kiss, Fluff, Found Family, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, baking cookies, holiday fic, idk if that's even a tag but im gonna add it anyway, kerry's only talent is overusing italics, lil bit of angst but not rly i mean c'mon, sry in advance, y'all know i don't write angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:08:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28307298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enragedbisexual/pseuds/enragedbisexual
Summary: steve and tony r idiots in love ,, nat helps em figure it out ,, fluff/christmas cheer ensues !!this was literally jus supposed 2 be a misunderstandings/eventual get together fic ,, like 5k words max ,,,, & somehow it turned into this cheesy ,, found family ,, rom-com referencing nonsense with a dash of christmas ?? oh ,, & more than double that original word count plan. so. enjoy !! happy holidays babes <3
Relationships: Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 8
Kudos: 30





	the more that you say, the less i know

**Author's Note:**

> if ur already a fan of the film 13 going on 30 ,, u’ll hopefully be a fan of this ,, as it’s referenced quite a bit ! [ yes ,, i think it's hilarious 2 include a mark ruffalo film in an avengers fic ] but if u haven’t seen it ,, dw ,, everything necessary is explained :) lil tiny bit of thorbruce as well as mentions of marianat & sambucky ,, but none r major plot points so again dw if ur not a fan of those pairings. also lesbian nat hc is mentioned. 
> 
> this is by far the longest thing i've ever written so there's bound 2 be some mistakes & generally wack writing in places. pls bear w me ,, & any feedback is appreciated !

Some people do things on accident, and it’s okay, because the stakes aren’t all that high. Maybe they forget to pick up milk at the grocery store one night, and in the morning they find themselves staring down a bowl of dry frosted flakes. Or, they set their alarm for PM instead of AM, and the next day they face the wrath of a boss whose mandatory meeting they slept through. But for others? For others, the stakes could not be higher.

Take Steve Rogers, whose mistake just might prove fatal. Sometime within the last year or so, Steve Rogers accidentally fell in love. And dry frosted flakes, or angry bosses, are nothing— _nothing_ —compared to facing the person you love everyday and pretending, pretending, _pretending_ until you think you might actually burst, into tiny bits of the person you once were, and float away. 

Okay, so maybe Steve was being a _bit_ dramatic, but what can he say? That was his way of dealing with the absolute mess his life had become. 

At first, things were good. Steve genuinely could not remember another time in his life where things had been going so, unbelievably well. He had the team, which meant he had a family, and he had a purpose, and with Tony around he was becoming less technologically challenged everyday, which was nice too. He didn’t have to feel like such an old man, even if maybe he was one. Technically. 

Life was almost too good, and Steve knew it. So, he wasn’t totally surprised when things took ... well. A turn. 

It started off so small, so imperceptible, that it took Steve himself months to really decide it was a problem. Steve and Tony had been close for years now, so it wasn’t like there was anything strange about Steve wanting to spend time with him. If, after a mission, Steve asked Tony if he wanted to watch a movie, and Tony said yes, and they half watched half made fun of some harmless rom-com, that wouldn’t be strange at all. 

If they were both very tired from fighting bad guys, Tony particularly so—because god knows the man does not sleep when he needs to—and so he fell asleep before the happy ending, and his head sort of made its way onto Steve’s chest, that would be _so_ normal. 

And if Steve’s heartbeat picked up faster than Clint runs from Nat during a you-ate-the-rest-of-the-cherry-poptarts rampage, then, well. Like Steve had been saying: imperceptible. 

As much as Steve wanted that night to be an outlier, it became a routine—not necessarily as specific as watching rom-coms on the couch, but the part about the unexpected, quickening of his heartbeat whenever Tony got too close? That would turn out to be pretty commonplace. 

They would be in the kitchen, and Steve would be making an omelette, or something, and Tony would come up behind him and stand on his tip-toes to get his head just above Steve’s right shoulder, and he would say, “Are you makin’ some for me?” And it would always be an unnecessary question, because yes, Steve was always making food for both of them, or whoever else was home and hungry. 

Steve loved cooking for his friends, because it made him feel strong in a different way than he was used to. He liked that. 

And yet, there would be the slightest pause before Steve answered, because his brain needed time to overcome the way his body reacted to Tony’s being so close. He usually did manage to say “yes,” or some variation of it, before Tony pulled out his pouty face. Sometimes, though, his brain would be perfectly fine, and he would wait anyway, just to see that face. 

At this point, it’s been almost a year of Steve hopelessly pining after someone he thought he couldn’t have, even in his wildest dreams, and a year of everyone else wishing that their team leaders weren’t such absolute idiots. 

– – –

Nat was pretty close with Tony, and she knew him—she _really_ knew him. Over the years, they had developed a sibling-like relationship, and so even if they fought over silly things sometimes, Nat was the first person to be there if she thought, even for a second, that something was wrong. 

Tony had been sort of mopey lately, always sighing, spending way too much time working on projects that seemingly had no point, and, consequently, losing his temper fairly easily due to a serious lack of sleep. 

The other day, because Nat had decided she had had enough, she went down to Tony’s workshop while he was consumed with perfecting some new tech, and asked him to tell her what was going on. Well, she _tried_ to ask him. 

“Look Tony, I can handle the whole gloom and doom thing if you would just-“

She was cut off, seemingly—definitely—on purpose, by ACDC’s “You Shook Me All Night Long” being turned up to a deafening volume. Tony started dancing, like a drunk dad at a cook-out, and didn’t stop even as he took a sip of what Nat could only assume was coffee. The mug read: **COFFEE MAKES ME FEEL LESS MURDERY**. 

Nat rolled her eyes, stalked over to where Tony was tinkering with his circuits and his touch screens, and unplugged his stereo. 

“Hey! Stop that!” 

And then, no doubt through the realization that he was looking into the eyes of a very determined woman, Tony went from indignant to compliant pretty quickly. Giving in, he grumbled out a “What do you want?” and looked right back down at his project. 

“Relax, Tony. I’m sure your super-ultra-mega-third-new-armor-in-the-past-month can wait.”

Tony looked offended, although it was in a fond, _'I’ll allow this insult because it’s you'_ sort of way, and he said nothing. 

“I just, I wanna know what’s been going on with you.” 

“Please?” She added, deciding that Tony would probably need that extra push. “Just tell me why you’ve been acting like the world’s ending all the time,” she let a moment pass, and then, “and turning into Hulk at every minor inconvenience.” 

“First of all,” Tony interjected in the same voice he had used to yell at her for turning off his music, “I have been doing no such thing! You are _so_ exaggerating.” 

Nat gave him an exhausted look, hoping to goad him into giving up the innocent act. 

Tony, however, is a stubborn man. 

“Nat,” he sighed, “I really don’t know what you’re talking about, okay? I just wanna work on this.” He broke eye contact. 

“You’ve been working a lot lately,” Nat countered. “Like, an unhealthy amount. I’m not the only person who’s noticing, either, Tony. I’m asking you because I care about you, and I care about the team, and they’re all too awkward to say anything.” 

Tony looked at her like he genuinely didn’t believe her.

“Thor told me you got mad at _him_ when he asked why _you_ stood him up for your usual sparring match. Maybe Bruce hasn’t said it, but I know it’s hurting him that you won’t work on anything with him anymore. You’re always doing things alone. Steve-“

“Steve?” Tony’s voice was incredulous. “He said something?” 

Nat was thrown off guard. “... No. He didn’t, actually. I was about to say that Steve hasn’t said anything, but I know this is bothering him too. Last night, he asked Clint to watch _13 going on 30_ with him! Not that Clint’s anti-rom-com or anything, I just know he was already about five minutes from being knocked out when Steve asked—it was like 12:30 in the morning, and you know how he is,” she added. 

“And Steve does too. Plus, I know _you_ guys have watched that movie like, a zillion times. So it was just, weird? But, hey, he’s obviously gotten the ‘I’m busy’ message you’re sending out to everyone, on every frequency.” 

Tony felt sick, and he just wanted this conversation to be over. All he could manage to say was “Oh.” 

“Oh?” Nat repeated back to him, “What do you mean _'oh?'_ You’re driving me nuts!”

“You know you can tell me anything, Tony. Why are you beinggggg like this?” 

She knew she sounded like a little kid, but she didn’t care. Tony had been _acting_ like one first, so that was that. 

“I just don’t feel like talking about it. Okay?” 

He stepped away from the litter of crumpled papers and loose screws crowding his workspace, made his way over to the couch in the opposite corner of the room, and sat down. He looked rather defeated; his hands were covered in grime, his hair was hanging in oily strands down into his eyes, and the clothes he was wearing were rumpled and worn out. The look on his face was that look a toddler might have right after they find out they can’t have a lollipop, and right before they start to cry. 

At this point, Nat was tired of pushing, and she felt _bad._ She didn’t know what was going on, but she knew she didn’t want to make things any worse. She followed the path Tony had taken, and plopped down next to him, laying her head on his shoulder. 

“It’s okay, hey, it’s okay. Everything’s gonna be fine, yeah?” She reached down to interlace their fingers together, trying her best to comfort him, and then placed a soft kiss to the back of his hand. 

In a voice so quiet Nat could barely make it out, Tony said, “I know it’s stupid, but I really wish he would’ve just asked me to watch the fucking movie.” 

– – –

The next morning, Nat was in the kitchen pouring herself a bowl of cereal when Steve came into the living room. His hair was sticking up in all different directions and he was wearing winter-themed pajama pants, sky blue with white polar bears in red christmas hats—appropriate for this time of year, being that it was a week from the holiday. 

“Cute PJ’s, Rogers. How did you sleep?”

Steve looked a little startled, like he hadn’t even noticed Nat was in the kitchen and assumed he was alone. 

“Oh, I-I slept alright, thanks for asking.” 

Steve looked up and gave her a small, weak smile, before promptly turning on the television to whatever was on—anything to keep from having a conversation. At that moment, it was an episode of _House Hunters,_ and while that might not be Steve’s favorite, he was certainly going to act like he was invested. 

He loved Nat, of course, and under ordinary circumstances he would have talked to her about anything under the sun. They had no problem doing that. Today, though, and for the last couple weeks, actually, Steve just didn’t feel his best. He wasn’t in the mood to talk about anything, really. He wanted to sit on the couch and mope and pretend like it mattered deeply to him that Kate and Ryan pick house #3, the ocean-front bungalow. 

Nat started to walk out of the kitchen and towards where Steve was sitting. She stopped when she was facing the back of the couch and leaned forward onto it, draping her arms over the space he wasn’t taking up. 

“Since when,” Nat began, almost as if she could read Steve’s mind, “do you pay this much attention to HGTV?” 

Steve kept his eyes on the screen; he tried to maintain a nonchalant demeanor. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” he waved his hand at her dismissively, without actually turning around to face her, “I probably became a fan subconsciously or something, I mean I _have_ been in the room plenty of times while Sam and Bucky were watching it.” 

Nat played along. “Oh? Interesting.” She rolled her eyes, not that Steve could see her. Then, “I was just wondering how things went the other night-“ 

“What?” Steve whipped his head around. “If Tony said anything, I swear I’m going to-“

“Tony?”

A deeply awkward silence fell over the room. Steve could feel his cheeks burning, and he just wanted to disappear. He thought for a moment he might shatter the remote he was gripping in his hand with a single squeeze. But he didn’t. 

Why couldn’t he have just kept listening to that couple argue about whether or not 30 minutes was too long of a commute? He turned back to face the TV screen, because he didn’t know what else to do. 

When Steve didn’t offer any explanation on his own, Nat simply continued. 

“.... Um. I was going to ask how things went with _Clint._ You know. Because you asked him to watch _13 going on 30_ despite the fact that it was already midnight and the guy is widely renowned for falling asleep halfway through any movie if it’s past daylight hours.” 

Steve turned his body around so that his feet were on the couch now, under Nat’s arms, and he looked up at her. As soon as he made eye contact, he laughed a little. He couldn’t help it. Everything was a bit—more than a bit—of a mess, and he hated how he kept making it worse, but god was she right about Clint. The man fell asleep during _Mad Max!_ He was genuinely unbelievable. The absurdity of it all—Clint’s sleeping habits, Tony, this conversation—it was _funny,_ at least for the moment. 

And laughing felt good! Allowing himself to relax felt good. He brought his hand up to his face, grinning. Then, he covered his eyes with the palm of his hand before pinching the bridge of his nose, and sighing—a concession, but a positive one. He still had a hint of that grin on his lips. Steve _wanted_ to talk to Nat about everything. He felt relieved, even if the rapid progression of his heartbeat said otherwise. It was just nerves; he hadn’t told anyone about this yet and he didn’t exactly know how. Nonetheless, he was dying to get it off his chest. 

“So?” Nat started, “Can you _pretty_ please just, tell me what’s up?”

She blinked her eyes way too many times and made a little pout with her lips. It reminded Steve of someone else he knew. 

He sighed, again, much louder than necessary, and tossed his head back onto the arm of the couch. Steve wanted to be able to get all of these ridiculous words out, sure, but he knew things would go a lot smoother if he didn’t actually have to _look_ at his friend while speaking. He looked ahead at his feet, wiggled them around some, and then brought one of his arms up over his head, so that the crease of his elbow laid against his forehead. He closed his eyes. 

“Okay.” 

Nat was kind of tired of leaning over the couch, so—believing that Steve just indicated they would be here a while longer—she did a 180. This way, she could sit on the back of the couch instead, with her legs crossed and the balls of her feet touching the floor. She looked up at the ceiling and waited patiently for Steve to explain. 

“You know how Tony’s been sort of, well ... you know how Tony’s been lately?”

“Yes.” 

“I think it’s my fault, I think—ugh. I know it’s because of me.” 

Steve felt so small in that moment, and he might’ve just gotten up and left rather than explain himself any further—if it weren’t for the fact that he knew who he was dealing with. Nat could get information out of some of the toughest, most dangerous people out there. She would certainly get this out of him, eventually, and he saw no point in prolonging the inevitable. 

“Why would it be because of you?” Nat asked, trying to sound as genuinely puzzled as she could. 

Okay, so Nat might have been pretending to be a little more out of the loop than she actually was. Given the way Tony reacted at the mere utterance of Steve’s name during their last conversation, she had _some_ sense that whatever was going on with Tony had at least something to do with Steve. Maybe everything to do with Steve. 

Still, she knew Steve was already feeling embarrassed and worried about the whole situation, and she wanted to let him tell her at his own pace. She would never force it out of him, either. Nat wasn’t in the business of hurting her friends for the sake of allaying curiosity. She just wanted them to be okay. 

Steve started to speak again. “About a week ago? We were sitting here—me and Tony—on the couch, I don’t know, we were probably watching _Will & Grace_ reruns or something, anyway, I was sitting here, and he was looking at the tv, and laughing—well, of course he was laughing, _Will & Grace_ is a gem, but-“ 

Nat interrupted. “Steve,” she said softly, chuckling a little, “I know how much you love _Will & Grace.”_

She was trying to muster as much love and reassurance as she could into the words she chose. 

“I know you’re rambling, because you’re nervous, and you didn’t wanna talk about this in the first place. And you don’t have to if you don’t want to, really. But if you do, I’m here, and I’m the last person on earth who would make you feel bad about whatever it is that happened, okay?” 

“Okay,” Steve said, without missing a beat. 

Nat was pretty confident that he believed her, like he knew that all along and just needed to be reminded. She smiled to herself. 

Then, she felt Steve sit up. She didn’t know if she should turn around, if he wanted to look at her now. 

Steve was upright, with his arms hugging his legs, and his chin resting on one of his knees. He tapped Nat on the shoulder. She turned around, beaming at him. He lifted his chin up so he could talk. 

“At first,” Steve said, “I didn’t think I could explain everything and look at you at the same time. That seems kinda stupid now though. Like, me telling this whole story to your back.” 

Nat laughed, and then reached over to grip his shoulder lightly, trying to comfort him through touch. Trying to say _it’s not stupid, it’s okay, everything is okay, I’m proud of you._

Evidently, Steve got the haptic message. 

“Okay, so,” he began, in a much more enthused manner that he had before, like he might actually be excited? to say this, “so you get it—he’s laughing, I’m looking at him, and then, I pause the tv. I just pause it.” 

He let his legs relax again, kicking one up over the far arm of the couch. 

Nat felt these teensy secondhand butterflies in her stomach. For a moment, a picture played in her mind, of young girls at school gushing about their crush of that week. It was silly, but she felt like the feeling she had was the feeling those girls would have—this sort of vicarious energy you get when someone you care about is ~doing a big thing~. 

Steve continued the story. 

“He looks at me, confused, obviously. And I have to start talking, because if I don’t, then that would just be, well. It would have been so weird. So I do! I start talking, and god, Nat, I wish I wouldn’t’ve started talking.” 

He cringed a little bit, just the thought of what happened next making him feel the embarrassment all over again, in real time.

“And? What did you say!” Nat demanded, a bit of a gasp in her voice. She slapped Steve’s arm, lightly, to emphasize the question. 

Nat really was like a teenage girl, now. On the bright side, she was sure that seeing _the great black widow_ be this excited about, at its core, gossip, made Steve as relaxed as he possibly could be. So, that was a plus. 

“You know just now, when I first tried talking to you? I started doing that! _Totally_ rambling. I honestly could not have stopped myself from speaking if I tried.” 

“I told him.” Steve looked at Nat with a grimace on his face as he confessed. 

“... Everything.” He divulged. “Well, okay, not everything—we would’ve been there all day. But! I asked him if he ever got lonely, right? And-“

When Steve quoted Tony next, he mimicked his words in a lower-than-necessary voice, that sort of voice that everyone uses to denote that they are now relaying the words someone else has said to them, to you. 

“He answered, and he said, ‘How could I be lonely? There’s like a dozen people going in and out of this place all the time’ and he was joking, but also, kind of not? I don’t know.” 

“So, then, I try to explain to him, like, no, I mean don’t you wish you _had_ someone. You know? And he says to me, ‘I mean, I guess. Sure, who doesn’t?’ Nat! God, so you can see where _that’s_ going.” 

Nat was practically buzzing, energy radiating off of her like heat from the sun. She was biting down on her knuckle, looking at Steve with worried anticipation in her eyes.

“Well! Where is it going?” Nat half yelled at him. 

Steve made a face, almost looking nauseated. Even so, he continued. 

“Well he’s looking at me so intensely, like to the point where I felt like my skin was burning, okay? And I say ‘Yeah, right. Yeah.’ Not sarcastically, or anything, but just. Yeah, he’s right.” 

“And so then he says, ‘Is this why you paused the show? To ask me if I’m lonely?’” 

Nat audibly gasped. 

“At this point, Nat, there was literally no going back. So I just tell him, I tell him no, that’s not why. That’s not why I paused the show. This is what I said to him, are you ready?”

“Am I ready?” Nat exclaimed, “I’ve been ready for days now! What did you say, Rogers?”

Steve looked into Nat’s eyes, and delivered the speech dramatically. He figured if he was acting it out—badly, purposefully badly, and to another person whom it was not meant for—it would feel less real. That if he made it more ridiculous, he wouldn’t have to think about how ridiculous it already was, on its own. 

“‘I wanted to tell you that I do feel lonely, and that I do wish I had someone. So much. And I’ve been a little bit in love with this guy for what feels like a millennium, at this point, and I don’t know what to do? I guess? It’s sort of killing me, but I don’t want to get over him, either. I don’t know. I just don’t think he would ever see me that way—I feel like he’s too preoccupied with all these things to even think about seeing me that way. I guess.” 

By the time Steve had gotten to that last _I guess,_ the overacting shield he had been using to protect himself had all but worn off. Nat could see it on his face. He looked like he was reliving it; he looked _sad._

“Hey,” Nat tried quickly, “That was amazing. The speech, I mean. The acting ... well. You could use some lessons.” 

She hoped teasing him would bring him out of the memory, would ground him and help him to not look so hurt, the way he did now. 

Steve smiled, but it was a small smile, the kind that doesn’t really reach your eyes, and his eyes flickered away from her and down to his own lap. Nat almost gave him a pitying look, and then she thought better of it. She went looking for some answers instead. 

“But I don’t get it,” Nat said to him, “What’s so bad about that? What am I missing?” 

It took a moment for Steve to gather his thoughts. 

“It’s not the speech that’s bad, Nat. Or my acting, for that matter.” He laughed a little. “I mean okay, my acting _was_ bad, but it was bad on purpose! And anyway, I’m just saying that’s not what the problem is.” 

Steve sighed. “It’s what happened _after_ I covered him in word vomit.” 

“Oh.” Nat winced. She loved Steve so much, and she just wanted him to be happy. And she felt the same way about Tony, even if he had been driving her insane. All those things considered, this was an awful lot to process. 

“He didn’t say _anything,” _Steve explained. “He just looked at me, like I said the worst thing in the world, by the way, and kind of nodded a little. And then he pressed play, and the episode only had a few minutes left, so when it was over ... he just left the room.”__

____

Nat physically felt a pang in her chest. God, none of this was right. Tony? At a loss for words? It didn’t make sense at all. 

__

“So, yeah. Everything’s been awkward since then.” At that, Steve started chewing at his bottom lip, and reverted back to his previous, curled up position. Both arms were draped around one leg, and he let his cheek rest on his knee this time, face still turned towards Nat. He had a faraway look in his eyes. 

__

– – –

__

Honestly, Nat was at a loss. Part of her wanted to fix things for them, for her friends, but another part of her knew that might not be possible and even if it was, was it her place? Should she just leave things be, and hope they work it out on their own? 

__

She debated those questions for a few days, until she didn’t exactly have a choice. Tony made the decision for her when he knocked on her bedroom door at three in the morning. 

__

Nat had been passed out—like a normal person!—but quickly got herself out of bed when she heard the noise and then shuffled to the door to see what was going on. She’s always been a light sleeper. 

__

“Hey,” Tony said, softly, when she opened the door. He looked worse than he had the day Nat was interrogating him in his lab. 

__

Nat whispered a greeting back, mainly focused on opening the door and allowing Tony to come in. 

__

This wasn’t something that happened regularly, or ever, if Nat’s memory served her right. Sure, she and Tony were close, but he also had a lot of pride; he never wanted to feel weak or dependent. Thus, he wouldn’t usually resort to finding solace in his friend’s rooms in the middle of the night, even if the inconvenience of his frequent nightmares might beg him to do exactly that, all the time. 

__

Nat knew something must really be bothering him, for him to show up like this. Regardless, she certainly didn’t mind. She was just glad he was letting himself ask for help. 

__

Tony stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, until Nat motioned for him to come and sit next to her on the edge of the bed. He joined her, but he still didn’t say anything. Nat had no qualms about it. She looked down at his hand that was fiddling with his pajama bottoms and covered it with her own, reminding him she was here. They idled in comfortable silence for the next few minutes. 

__

Then, Tony started to speak. 

__

“Steve’s in love with someone.” 

__

He stated it matter of factly. There was a sadness in the way he said it, but his voice didn’t break, and he didn’t put his head in his hands or even so much as frown as the words came out. It was as if he was merely professing an unfortunate fact, like a weatherman announcing that there would not be snow on Christmas Eve. 

__

“I know,” Nat replied. 

__

If Tony was surprised by that, he didn’t show it. He simply looked up at her, and then back down at the floor. 

__

“I just don’t know what I did wrong, you know?” Tony asked, rhetorically. “I keep running it over in my head—everything he told me—looking for answers, and they just aren’t there. I’m confused, more than anything. I don’t know.” 

__

“At first, there was a bright side, because I couldn’t sleep. So,” he laughed, “well, as _you_ took note of, I had a lot of time to work.” 

__

He paused. “Except, I couldn’t really get anything done? It’s sort of been a disaster. I mean, how can you focus on anything when someone tells you something like that?” 

__

Nat wanted to be mad at him, she really wanted to be mad at him. The fact that Captain America was in love with him and that was a _problem?_ Sure, she might not be attracted to men, but she wasn’t blind. 

__

Still, she couldn’t actually be mad at Tony, even if she knew how tough this was for Steve. If anyone knew what it was like to have no control over who you did or didn’t love, it was Nat. Besides, it didn’t exactly seem like this whole fiasco had been easy on Tony, either. 

__

Nat spoke up. “I wish I would’ve known sooner, Tony. I wouldn’t have questioned for a second why you were acting the way you were, you know?” She felt so embarrassed, even though she knew it didn’t make sense to feel that way. There’s no way she could’ve known what was going on, but she still wished she could have, somehow. 

__

“Hey, I know it must feel like you’ve lost one of your best friends. I really am sorry.” She looked at Tony, the sympathy written plainly on her face. He sighed. 

__

Neither of them spoke for at least five minutes. Tony watched the time tick away on Nat’s alarm clock, desperately trying to find the words he wanted to say—to remember why he even thought it would be a good idea to show up like this in the first place. 

__

“So–so how did you come to find out all this, anyway?” Tony asked. He could hear his voice shaking, but he got it out, and that would have to be enough. 

__

Nat knew this inquiry was on its way the moment she was awoken from her sleep. That didn’t mean she wasn’t still dying for any reason to get out of answering. But there was nothing to be done. 

__

“Steve told me. The other day—well, I kind of coaxed it out of him. My magic works better on him than you, apparently.” 

__

“Steve’s soft like that.” A small smile appeared on Tony’s lips as he said it. His eyes were glassy. “I mean, not like he’s weak, or something—obviously you know that’s not true. Just, he’s such a sap, when you melt that capsicle exterior. He used to have me fooled.” 

__

Tony was staring off into space—his line of sight matched up with a picture on Nat’s dresser, but looking more so through the thing than at it. He had the same sort of faraway look in his eyes that Steve had had after he and Nat’s conversation. 

__

“Not anymore, though. Not for a long time, now,” Tony finished his thought. 

__

“God, Tony. You talk about him like you _could_ love him. No wonder he’s confused.” 

__

Nat didn’t hold back the irritation in her tone, even if maybe she should have. The thought was out and into the world before she even had the chance to notice she had said it. She was just thinking of Steve—especially now that Tony had gone on about him like that—Steve, sitting there hugging his knees, looking so small and so lost. She was hurt _for_ him. 

__

“Confused? What do you mean ‘confused?’” Tony used air quotes to drive home the question. 

__

“Well—no I’m just saying, Tony, I know you don’t ... but–but it makes sense that he might think so,” her words were becoming more of a ramble, everything said with an air of detachment, “and that he would fall for you, because you just, I don’t know, you talk about him like-“ 

__

Whatever comparison Nat was about to draw, the world would never know. 

__

“Nat, for the love of God, what are you talking about?” 

__

“What do you mean what am I talking about?” 

__

Tony dragged his palm down his face and started to rub at one of his temples, clearly frustrated, and probably tired—the clock on Nat’s nightstand was now blinking 3:45 am in neon green. 

__

“I _mean,_ why are you saying that? That Steve falling for me, that it makes sense?” 

__

“Because it does? I just told you-“ 

__

“No, no—yes, I get it. I understand your _reasoning._ What I’m asking is why are you saying that in the first place? It just seems like, I don’t know, kind of a painful hypothetical? Considering?” He gestured loosely at himself with one hand. 

__

“Hypothetical?” 

__

“Okay,” Tony started, “I feel like I’m being punk’d.” 

__

He exhaled a big breath before continuing, “I know it’s nearly four in the morning, and you should be sleeping and all, but as for me, well, we’re actually at peak functioning time for _my_ antics. So, it truly should not be this difficult for us to have a conversation. Am I crazy?” 

__

“I wanna say no,” Nat admitted, “but you’re right, at least about the ‘I should be sleeping’ part. I don’t think anyone’s ‘peak functioning time’ is four am, though, no matter how much you’ve tried to make that work. You’re not like, a bat, Tony. You’re not _actually_ nocturnal. You do know that, right?” 

__

“Okay okay,” Tony conceded, “Can I get yelled at for my sleeping habits later? One debacle at a time, please.” 

__

Nat rolled her eyes, but nodded her head slightly as she did it, signaling that she agreed with that course of action. 

__

Tony tried again, “So, I was asking why you picked right now, three days before Christmas, at an absurdly late hour of the night, to torture me with what ifs about my love life, which, by the way, is already smack dab in the middle of falling apart and is, in fact, the entire reason I’m sitting here next to you right now?” 

__

“Tony, maybe _I’m_ the crazy one, but I really don’t think I was doing the whole ‘what if’ thing. All I said was that I _understand_ how Steve could have fallen for you, how he could think you would reciprocate-“ 

__

“See!” Tony bragged proudly, “That’s what I’m saying, that’s—wait.” 

__

When Tony let a beat pass without continuing, Nat interjected. “Um, yes? Earth to Tony?” 

__

“‘Could have fallen.’” Tony repeated Nat’s words back to her. 

__

“What?” 

__

“‘ _Could have fallen,’_ Tony whispered again, “Not ‘could fall.’ ‘Could have fallen,’ you said. You understand how he _could have fallen._ As in, not hypothetical.” 

__

“Well, yeah. That’s what I’ve been trying to explain to you for the past-“ 

__

“As in, he did?” 

__

“Tony,” and now it was Nat’s turn to cover her face with her hand in frustration, “Did you hit your head on the way in here? Did you run into a wall?” 

__

“I didn’t know that.” 

__

“You didn’t know what, Tony?” 

__

“I didn’t know he had fallen for me, Nat. Hello! This is new information!” Tony’s voice had gone way up in pitch. “Since when has Steve, since when has he—felt this way? And how do _you_ know?” 

__

Okay, now Nat was the one feeling like the victim of a bad celebrity prank show. 

__

“Are you joking?” she asked, kindly. She was on the brink of insanity, sure, but if Tony wasn’t joking, she felt like she’d better start sprinkling some patience and comfort back into her words. 

__

A good idea, as it turned out. 

__

“... N–no. I’m serious,” Tony stammered. _“You’re_ not joking, are you?” 

__

”Please, you know better than to ask me that. Even disregarding the fact that I would never be _that_ mean, I literally don’t have the mental capacity to pull off a ‘gotcha!’ right now. The sun’s about to come up and I’m sitting here talking to you, remember?” 

__

Tony grinned at her. “Right, right. Of course.” 

__

“So?” Nat asked. And without waiting for a reply, “I _really_ don’t get it, this time. You knew Steve was in love with someone—you said that. And _I_ know Steve confessed to you the other day, because he confessed that confession, to me.” She was speaking slowly, laying out the facts like a mathematical word problem. 

__

Then, the so-called lightbulb flicked itself on in Nat’s head. 

__

“Oh my god, you–you thought, you _actually_ thought-“ 

__

“Okay, okay,” Tony interrupted, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, this is all just one giant comedy special.” 

__

Tony was pretending to be mad, but you could see in his eyes that the statement wasn’t entirely sarcastic. Nat was trying and failing to hide her giggling. 

__

“Yes, I _actually_ thought,” he admitted. “Okay? I did. How was I supposed to know!” 

__

“Let me get this straight. You thought Steve—Steve Rogers, Mr. America, the man, the myth, the legendary fossil himself—had time for some secret double life, in between being an Avenger _and_ being your best friend, to meet another guy? And fall in love with him? _Love,_ Tony?” 

__

“Leave me alone!” Tony protested, instantly. “I don’t know _every_ detail of the guy’s life, okay, I don’t know if-“ 

__

“Oh, you don’t? Oh, I see. So you don’t know what’s gonna happen in,” she turned her head to glance at the clock, “thirty minutes?” 

__

Tony glared at her. 

__

“Fine. He’s gonna go for a run. At 5, he’s gonna wake up, and go for a stupid run. But you proved nothing! You knew it too, so what, _you’re_ in love with him then? Hm?” 

__

“Clearly, you’ve forgotten the meaning of the word lesbian.” 

__

Okay, yeah, Tony walked right into that one. 

__

“I’m just _saying,”_ Nat insisted, “The only reason I know that, is because you know that. And I bet you know other stuff, too. You know where he’s gonna stop, what route he takes, what he’ll order from whatever place he stops, if he-“ 

__

“Jenny’s. It’s the only place that’s open by 6, plus they have those weird, healthy breakfast sandwiches he’s so obsessed with, with like, the wheat bread that has _nine_ different grains? Or something ridiculous like that. What kind of super soldier concerns himself with-“ 

__

He looked up at Nat, when he started to ask that last question, and then he cut himself off. She was smirking, and she looked wildly pleased with herself. Clearly, Tony had walked into a trap, once again. 

__

“You’re the worst,” He declared. 

__

“Me? I’ll have you know, no one else would sit here and listen to you fake complain about Rogers’ eating habits like whole wheat bread was your love language. Clint would’ve been napping five love-sick details ago and you know it. You’re lucky to have me.” 

__

Nat flipped her hair dramatically, and Tony just shook his head at her, a smile starting to break across his features. 

__

“Plus, if you would so kindly rewind to just a few minutes ago,” Nat continued, “I believe I singlehandedly revived your love life from the dead. So. You’re welcome, times two.” 

__

Tony was beaming now. In fact, he looked so different from the way he had looked when Nat first opened the door an hour or so ago, that it made her heart swell and her eyes get a little bit watery. 

__

“Thank you,” Tony said. “Really. I have no idea how you can even put up with me, but you do, and it means everything.” He couldn’t stop smiling as he spoke. 

__

“Anytime, babe, anytime. I’m just glad you and Steve can stop being idiots now, honestly. I feel like a proud mom.” 

__

Nat continued, “Wait, you _are_ gonna talk to him, right? When are you gonna talk to him? Oh god, please do it soon. Like now. Can you do it now?” 

__

“Geez, Nat, give me a minute, would you?” 

__

There was no animosity in Tony’s voice, just mock exasperation, particularly in the way he widened his eyes to emphasize exactly how unfathomable her request was. 

__

“I’m so tired,” he explained, “and I definitely need to work out what I should say. I mean, is ‘hey I’m in love with you’ _too_ on the nose?” 

__

Nat could’ve slapped him. “You know what? I think both of you could really use ‘on the nose’ right now. Desperately. So, I say, be as obvious as possible, and then actually? Be more obvious than that. Because, clearly, _you_ suck at taking hints, and I’m sure your boyfriend does too.” 

__

“Hey! He’s not my boyfriend.” 

__

Nat raised her eyebrows, and then Tony quickly added, 

__

“Yet.” 

__

They both laid back on the bed, laughing and squealing like little kids. The sun was starting to come through Nat’s blinds. 

__

Then, they heard someone walk out the front door. They both knew who. 

__

Nat swatted at Tony’s arm to get his attention. “Hey!” She whisper-yelled, “Go after him!” 

__

He shoved her hand away lazily. His eyes were closed. 

__

“Shhh. I’ll get him when he’s back from his run.” He could feel Nat’s eyes burning a hole into him. 

__

He opened one eye, partially, and looked at her as he said, “Promise!” and then promptly fell asleep. 

__

– – –

Steve came back to the house and immediately started getting ready to work out _more,_ because a healthy jog apparently wasn’t enough to make him stop thinking so much. And he was going to lose his mind if, well, if his mind didn’t cool it. He needed to go take out a couple of punching bags. 

When he was in the middle of making breakfast—he didn’t make his usual stop at Jenny’s, he just wasn’t up for it—Steve nearly flung the pancake he was making right up into the ceiling. 

For some ungodly, horrible reason, Tony had seemingly decided to not only be awake at a time he was never awake—unless he was working, in which case Steve wouldn’t have had to worry about him showing up in the kitchen like this—but also to put an end to their standoff, of sorts. 

Neither of them had said a word to each other in over a week, and yet, here Tony was, sneaking into the kitchen undetected, and scaring Steve half to death by opening his mouth while Steve was mid-flip. 

Steve didn’t even hear what Tony said, because he was too busy doing that thing he mentioned earlier. What was it again? Oh, right, _losing his mind._

“Steve.” This time, Tony’s voice broke Steve out of his momentary fit of terror, instead of throwing him into one. How thoughtful. 

“Steve, um, look. We need to talk-“

“Tony,” Steve chided, in his best disapproving captain voice. “Do you really think it’s a good idea to-“ 

“Steve,” Tony started to rub his eyes, “Shut up.” Steve looked taken aback, but said nothing. 

“I’m sorry, that was rude.” Tony apologized. 

“Shut up, please?” 

Steve’s face was scrunched up, looking confused, and somewhat offended—although not enough to argue, at least not at this juncture—so Tony continued, quickly. 

“How do I say this? How do I say this, okay, uh, yeah, wow, Nat really did _not_ prepare me enough for this part.” 

In that moment, Tony was mostly just talking to himself. He had begun to pace in a tiny circle a foot or so away from Steve, fussing with his hair and biting his nails. 

Steve could hear, of course, but he wasn’t freaking out, not in the way he thought he would’ve, or maybe should’ve, been. Once the initial shock of Tony actually speaking to him again wore off, Steve realized he was just happy to hear his friend’s voice, context—and potential disaster incoming—be damned. 

“When we had our–our ... talk? That day, um, I think, well, the point is: we are both idiots.” 

Steve merely raised an eyebrow, appearing completely unaffected by this declaration, probably because it wasn’t exactly news. 

“I’m talking catastrophically unaware, Rogers. And honestly, this one’s kind of on you, I mean, I’m just a guy in a suit, and being a mess is one of my—many—charms. _You’re_ Captain America. Super strength, lightning fast reflexes, whatever it is you took a 70 year nap for, and you still couldn’t figure out that I was in love with you? Sheesh, embarrassing.” 

Tony was pretty glad that he got to throw Steve’s disapproval right back at him, but he also felt like maybe he might throw up? So, he wasn’t in the clear, yet. 

Steve had continued his breakfast mission all throughout Tony’s interrupting, so he had a mouthful of syrupy sugar at the moment Tony dropped that last bit of information. 

“You’re a self proclaimed genius,” Steve mumbled through chewing, “How is this my fault?” He looked at Tony innocently from where he was leaning against the counter, one hand holding his plate and the other continuing to shovel food into his mouth. 

“Oh my god, I can’t stand you.” 

“Okay, now I’m confused. I thought you were ‘in love’ with me?” 

“Oh, shut up, shut up, shut the _fuck_ up Steve, you are unbelievable!” Steve was laughing so hard that some syrup had spilled from his mouth down onto his chin. He wiped it with the back of his hand. 

Tony kept ranting and raving, “Do you know what, _Captain?_ Maybe _you_ should include more details when you decide to make the big love confession speech, hmm? As spectacular as I am, I don’t actually read minds you know. I thought you meant someone else!” 

Tony’s voice got a little quieter when he said that last sentence. He started looking down and tapping on the counter with his fingers. He looked unbelievably adorable, Steve thought. It was actually unfair. 

“Oh, come here, you are _such_ an idiot,” Steve gushed in a loving voice, holding his arms out. 

Tony didn’t move, he just turned his face away from Steve and crossed his arms over his chest, refusing to give in. 

Steve breathed out a sigh, put his plate down on the counter, and took the couple steps over to where Tony was pouting. He put his arms around the other man’s waist, and Tony—very hesitantly—let his head rest against Steve’s chest. Steve cradled him, curling his fingers into the tangled hair at the back of his neck, pressing gentle kisses to the top of his head. 

A couple minutes passed, of them just like that. And then Steve pulled back, enough so that he could look at Tony’s face, but not so much that they were disconnected—Steve’s arms were still slung loosely around his hips. 

“So, Nat is the one who figured this out, right? I mean, no disrespect to you, _genius,_ but I have a feeling you had help.” He carded his fingers through the front of Tony’s hair as he said it, absolutely infatuated with how close they were, how real this was, how good Tony still looked despite the fact that he very clearly had not slept in days. 

Tony had no problem giving in now. 

“Yeah, yeah, she helped.” He admitted. “Okay, she did everything. All I did was show up in her room and wake her up from what was probably a lovely dream about Deputy Director Hill.” 

“Oh? Interesting, I didn’t realize Nat was pining, too.” 

“Oh, she is. Big time. We definitely owe her for, well, you know. This.” 

At first, Tony just gestured between the two of them, seemingly defining “this.” But then, he smiled shyly, stood up on his tiptoes, and kissed Steve on the lips. 

He could feel the way Steve’s heartbeat picked up, and as far as Tony was concerned, that was his new crowning achievement. Steve Rogers, blushing all the way down to his chest, grinning from ear to ear, unable to stop his heart from giving him away. It was, quite possibly, the greatest thing Tony had ever seen. And he’d seen Nat take out six bad guys in the same span of time it takes Mr. Rogers here to flip a single pancake. So. There’s that. 

– – –

Later that day, in the afternoon, Tony went looking for Thor so that he could make up for their missed sparring session. 

Thor, though, seemed a tad preoccupied “sparring” with Bruce by the time he got there, so Tony left the two of them and headed back to his room. Today was Christmas Eve, and he still had presents to finish wrapping. 

“So, what’d you get him?” 

Nat startled Tony as he walked in; she was standing by his dresser and rifling through various gift bags he had left sprawled everywhere. 

Tony could’ve made some remark about how she was going to ruin her own surprise by peeking, and how she ‘should warn a guy next time,’ but the truth is, he actually didn’t mind much at all that she was here, asking that, because he had been dying to get a second opinion on Steve’s gift. 

“Well, it was extremely short notice, and I’m not even sure if he’s going to-“ 

“Tony, please. Did we not already go through the you-know-him-better-than-you-know-anyone-else conversation? I thought this was settled over whole grain bread,” Nat recounted, not bothering to lookup from her investigation of Tony’s purchases. 

“Okay, fine. Let me show you.” Tony moved past Nat and into the closet, and she heard him rustling some things around before he reappeared in the doorway carrying a rather large contraption, concealed with a pink blanket that was draped over it. He set it on the floor between the two of them. 

“Oh, _I_ see. So all of this,” she gestured at the presents on the dresser, “was just a distraction? Unbelievable, Stark. You really didn’t want me to find ... whatever’s under there, huh?” She raised her eyebrows at him. 

“I just wanted to be able to explain it to you, so you wouldn’t think I was crazy! Or, if you did, I could at least be here to defend myself. Also, I wish I could say that was all a distraction. I’m actually just that messy.” 

Nat nodded, eyeing him with suspicion. “Well, then, out with it!” 

Tony took a breath, and then pulled the cover off to reveal what looked to Nat like a ... dollhouse? 

Seeing the look on Nat’s face, Tony immediately jumped in to shed some light on the gift. 

“Okay, listen, just wait, okay? I know what you’re thinking, but I can explain!” 

”Steve always wanted a Barbie dream house growing up, but Santa never got him one?” 

“No, it’s-“ 

“He has a secret collection of little Avengers toy people, and they need somewhere to live?” 

“Nat,” Tony began, a grin threatening to break open across his face. “He does not-“ 

“Hm, you’ve decided to adopt, and-“ 

“Nat!” Tony was definitely laughing now, even if he was trying his hardest to glare at her and wag his finger disapprovingly. 

“Okay, okay. I give. I’m dying to know what,” she gesticulated in a purposefully chaotic manner,” _this_ really is.” 

”Good. Because it’s actually very romantic, thank you, and after this conversation is over, you’re going to be losing your mind over just how impeccable my gift giving skills are.” 

“Mark my words,” Tony said, and Nat mimed the action of writing on her forearm. 

Her teasing didn’t shatter Tony’s confidence a bit. “Fine, don’t believe me,” he challenged, shrugging. 

“Okay, well, I know you haven’t seen it, but you know how me and Steve—Steve and _I_ , god, you fall in love with one guy and suddenly grammar is out the window—how Steve and _I_ both love _13 going on 30?_ And how we’ve, as you so gracefully pointed out, ‘watched it a zillion times?’” 

“Yeah?” She answered. “Oh my gosh, Tony, did you create a miniature replica of the house they live in, or something? I mean, you _would_ know every detail, what with the zillion viewings and all.” 

“The worst part is that you’re actually, pretty close? But no, okay, not exactly. So basically, in the beginning of the movie, when they’re kids, the guy makes the girl a dollhouse for her birthday, but it’s not just _any_ dollhouse.” 

“Well no, of course not, couldn’t be. Ordinary dollhouse wouldn’t warrant a million, let alone a zillion viewings,” Nat said, faux-seriously. 

Tony rolled his eyes, smiling, and then continued, “The guy, Matty, he puts tiny cardboard Jenna’s—Jenna is the name of the girl he loves—in the house, doing Jenna things, like reading this magazine she’s obsessed with, and he does the same with himself, and the whole thing is decorated in this way that’s so simple but, also it kind of shows that he knows her better than anyone else? And there’s obviously so much thought that went into it, you know? And, well, I don’t wanna spoil the movie, but,” 

“I mean, Tony, c’mon, you can tell me. It’s not that serious. It’s a rom-com.” 

Tony gasped. “I will do no such thing! I refuse! You know how much I hate spoilers, and I’m absolutely making you watch it next time, anyway. No more getting out of it. You’re gonna be part of the zillion, baby.” 

“Ugh, fine. If you must.” 

“Oh, I must.” Nat stuck her tongue out at him. 

“As I was _saying,_ without major spoilers, let’s just say the house is a big part of the movie. Hence,” he pointed at the dollhouse on the ground, and waited impatiently for Nat’s thoughts. 

“Well? Do you like it?” He asked. 

“Ew, I’m sickening myself saying this, but you were right. It’s romantic as hell.” Tony looked unapologetically pleased. 

“Is that cardboard you and Steve watching a cardboard TV screen with the fucking movie on it? Romantic _and_ meta. Damn, Stark, you win. I really didn’t think you had it in you.” 

“Honestly? Me either. Sure, I love a good, cheesy flick, but I’m not exactly a hopeless romantic—never have been. ‘Playboy,’ remember? One of my titles,” he reminded her, flippantly. “Not anymore.” 

He looked into the distance dramatically, joking, and trying not to laugh at the idea that he could possibly be disappointed at those days being over. 

Nat knew he was kidding, of course. 

“Yeah, I don’t know how many playboys spend their free time painstakingly crafting elaborate dollhouses covered in pink glitter, I have to say.” 

”The glitter is very important,” he retorted, “you’ll get it when you watch the movie.” 

– – –

When Tony was in Steve’s room that night, and they were lying down, ready to sleep, it really hit him. 

Steve had one arm wrapped around his front, near the reactor, the other tracing lazy circles into his skin. Tony felt at home in a way he didn’t think he would ever feel. Home had always been a word that he spoke with disdain, when he was growing up. It wasn’t the warm welcome that greeting cards and holiday commercials made it out to be. 

Until now. 

He always figured something must be wrong with him, to not speak of home with reverence. To not even, truth be told, understand what it meant or could mean, beyond the dictionary definition. Now, he understood. 

There was something divine about the places on his body Steve touched, something sacred in the way those places were remade and reshaped and the way he felt brand new every time Steve spoke his name with adoration, or spilled kindness and pride and tender words over him like holy water. 

Even with the Tower, and the friends that he loved deeply, he was lucky to gain a real sense of belonging that he couldn’t have imagined he would ever have—but it wasn’t complete. He longed for a different kind of love. Not as a replacement that would overshadow what he already had, but an addition that would make _everything_ glow brighter. 

When his nightmares made him relive tragedies, made him feel like a fracture of a person, he wished on the stars outside his bedroom window, for clarity and for peace. For _someone_ to bring those things to him. 

And Tony can’t believe he’s found him. Or, rather, recognized him, finally, as exactly what he’d hoped at the sky for. 

Lost in thought, he must’ve begun to cry a little, and a tear from his eyes rolled down onto one of Steve’s knuckles. 

“Tony? Are you crying?” Steve squeezed his hand, immediately worried. 

Tony was startled. He hadn’t even noticed that he was, and, besides, he wasn’t expecting any kind of reaction because he had assumed—mistakenly—that Steve had already fallen asleep. 

“Shh, everything’s alright. Happy tears, babe.” Tony squeezed back. “I just, um, I was thinking about you. Us. That’s all.” He smiled to himself, in the dark. 

Steve was grateful Tony couldn’t see the rose flush that had undoubtedly risen to the surface of his cheeks as he heard those words. 

“You sure everything’s okay?” He knew the answer, already, but he felt a need to double check, just in case. 

“Yeah.” Tony could taste the salt of his tears on his lips. He felt giddy. “Merry Christmas.” 

“Merry Christmas, Tony.” Steve leaned over and placed a chaste kiss to his shoulder, and then let his head fall back onto the pillow. “Get some sleep.” 

– – –

As Christmas morning rolled around, Tony could hardly contain his excitement. He was seriously thrilled about his gift, and he couldn’t wait to see Steve’s reaction. 

Everyone was awake in the living room, and Clint and Bruce were passing out the presents from under the tree. 

There was nothing better than Thor on Christmas day. Because Christmas didn’t exist on Asgard, this was only Thor’s third or fourth year experiencing it, and you could tell. He had the pure, enchanted enthusiasm of a child, and it was infectious. 

When he was handed a gift, he would hold it up and shake it next to his ear. “Ah, what could this one be!” He’d say, bright eyes and wonder in his voice. 

Nat was curled up on an armchair, doing almost the same thing, except she seemed more like a detective, genuinely determined to guess what was in the packages. 

“Oh, this is definitely a new coffee maker. I can feel it.” 

“Stop spoiling the surprises!” Clint reprimanded. 

“Not my fault I’m good.” 

“Now now, no fighting on Christmas,” Tony interjected, doing his best Mom of Young Children impression. 

“Yeah, what he said.” Steve added. 

Clint made a face. “Oh, would you two get a room?” 

”Seriously, you guys are so parent-y, I’m gonna throw up,” Nat said, concurring. 

Then, even Bruce chimed in. “Hey, I think it’s sweet! Be nice.” 

“Chocolate is sweet,” Nat corrected, “what these two have going is something else.” 

“Alright alright, don’t take it out on Brucey. We’ll give it a rest, won’t we Steve?” 

Before he could answer, Nat spoke again. 

“No! Then we’ll have no one to make fun of, and what good is that? Besides, I’m only kidding. You know we love you two and your unbridled _feelings._ It’s cute. Gross, but cute.” 

“Thank you?” Steve replied. 

“You’re welcome.” 

“Speaking of feelings,” Tony said to Steve, his voice quieter now, “I am dying for you to open your present. Like, I am going to drop dead if you don’t start unwrapping it right now.” 

“I don’t think you’ll drop dead, personally, but-“ 

“Just do it!” Tony put the box in his lap. 

Steve took one look at him, then the box, and started peeling the paper away. Tony just looked so happy, and excited, and it was making Steve brim with anticipation now, too. What could possibly have him so eager? 

As he stripped the layers of penguin-snowflake wrapping away, and then opened up the box, Steve felt his eyes begin to well up with tears. 

A dollhouse, just like Jenna’s, except in the places it wasn’t. Pink glitter sprinkled over the roof, but instead of the pastel pink and lavender of Jenna’s suburbia, the house itself was painted a shiny silver with electric blue accents, like the Tower, complete with the Avengers “A.” Cardboard cutout people, like in the movie, but it was _them_ —his family. Steve’s family. Cardboard Thor sparring with cardboard Hulk in one room. Cardboard Clint and Nat in another—the kitchen, Steve realized—standing over a playdough pot filled up with yellow string to look like spaghetti. 

Cardboard Steve and Tony in front of a cardboard TV, a piece of paper glued to it on which Tony had drawn modest renderings of Jenna and Matty in sharpie, and their very own itsy bitsy dollhouse that started it all. 

Steve had been looking at his gift for what felt to Tony like ages, and he didn’t seem to be thinking of speeding things up anytime soon. 

Tony watched him nervously for a while longer, bottom lip between his teeth, contemplating whether or not he should wait for Steve to say something first. He decided against that idea. 

“... Well? What do you think?” Tony asked him, all timid and skittish but somehow so sure of himself at the same time. 

Steve could feel the confidence hiding behind Tony’s careful words, masked by the trepidation in his movements as he shifted his own hands towards Steve’s. But it was there, nonetheless. Like Tony knew what Steve would say, like he was positive about it, but he still wanted to hear the words before he let himself feel any real sense of accomplishment. 

“I can’t believe you did this,” Steve answered, finally. He grabbed Tony’s hand in his, and then clasped over their interlaced fingers with his free hand, kissing one of Tony’s knuckles so gently that Tony just might have imagined it. 

“Neither can I. Who knew engineering geniuses could master plain old arts and crafts?” Steve smirked, stopping short of rolling his eyes at Tony because, hey, it was Christmas. 

Tony was making the joke so he wouldn’t get too emotional and weep like a big baby right here in front of everyone, and he knew it. Steve wouldn’t stop looking at him like he just rescued a kitten from a burning building, though, so he didn’t stand a chance. 

“Seriously, Tony. I panicked and bought you a watch! I didn’t think we were going all out with, like, three days notice. God, I’m never gonna live this down.” His face turned serious, before he spoke next, his body gravitating toward Tony’s instinctively, pulling on the bottom of the other man’s Christmas sweater absentmindedly, looking down at nothing. “I can’t believe you did this for me.” 

Tony lifted Steve’s chin up with one finger, making pointed eye contact. He let his touch trail up and down Steve’s jawline, softly, and when Steve’s breath hitched, it gave Tony goosebumps. 

“I can’t believe I get to do this.” 

And then they were kissing, only lightly and only for a moment, before Tony disconnected them. 

“Thank god,” Clint blurted out, “I was afraid Mom and Dad were gonna start making out.” 

Steve giggled. “Have you guys been watching us this whole time?” 

“In our defense,” Nat claimed, “How could we not be looking at the pretty, shiny dollhouse-Tower? The rest of us are holding, like, socks right now, okay? Plus, I can see myself in there! What am I _wearing?_ Is that a dress made out of cotton balls?” 

“Yes. Yes it is.” 

“And it looks lovely on you, Nat,” Steve declared. 

”Why thank you. Just for that, you two can get back to your kissing. We’ll look away, promise! Right guys?” 

“Ha ha, very funny,” Tony said. “Not necessary. I’ll defile Captain America here later.” Steve’s face turned bright red. “I wanna see what _you_ guys got, c’mon! Thor?” 

“It seems that I’ve been given a stuffed animal, some sort of ... Midgardian creature that I do not recognize. Still, it is very cute! Although, I am concerned as to why something so fluffy would need such a sharp weapon on its head?” 

“You don’t know what unicorns are?” Bruce exclaimed, seeming genuinely distressed by this information. 

“Unicorns? I cannot say I have ever heard of such things. Are they dangerous?” 

“They aren’t real,” Bruce told him, “but no, they aren’t made out to be, either way. They’re, well, they’re sort of an Earth myth. Mostly they’re seen as magical, like they live in the clouds and glide on rainbows and stuff.” 

“Midgardians believe one can live inside of a cloud?” 

Bruce facepalmed. “No—well, some people might. I don’t know. I just thought-“ 

“Oh my god,” Nat groaned, “This can’t possibly be happening again, right?” 

Tony laughed, knowingly, which made Steve laugh too. 

“Who am I, Cupid? Why is it that the people with the biggest brains don’t know how to use them for practical purposes? Like, hello, skip the fairy tale part and just tell him whatever sappy reason you got him that thing, would you?” 

Now it was Bruce’s turn to blush. 

“Who is ‘Cupid?’” Thor’s face was contorted with confusion. 

“Bruce will explain later,” Nat replied, grinning. 

– – –

It was nighttime now, the gold star and multicolored lights on the tree being the only thing brightening up the dimly lit living room. Thor and Bruce had clearly figured things out, once again with the help of Nat as, apparently, everyone’s own personal Cupid. The two of them were sitting close together on the floor, practically in each other’s laps, and Thor was holding his unicorn up in front of his face and making it talk in a high-pitched unicorn voice, no doubt telling Bruce how handsome he looked in the black and green plaid sweater he was wearing. 

Clint was braiding Nat’s hair on the couch, and _Elf_ was playing softly on the TV at a low volume. Meanwhile, Steve and Tony were in the kitchen baking—or _trying_ to bake—chocolate chip cookies. 

“I don’t know, are you sure we didn’t skip an ingredient? This dough doesn’t look ... promising.” 

_Steve, always the skeptic,_ Tony thought, fondly. 

“Hush, they’re gonna be great.” Tony was beaming as he took the tray off the counter where Steve was eyeing it apprehensively, and popped it in the oven. 

When he turned around, Steve had his eyebrows raised, and a hint of a smile on his face. Tony could’ve lost his mind right then and there, looking at Steve in his Santa-suit Christmas apron, cookie dough way up near his hairline, where he had clearly swiped his hand across his forehead without knowing it would leave cookie remnants. Tony’s heart was _leaping._

“What?” Steve asked, eyes wide and innocent. 

“Nothing.” Tony grinned. “You have a little something,” he wiped the food away, “there.” 

“Oh,” Steve said, smiling at him. 

“Thanks. I—um. This ... this has been, like, crazy, by the way.” Tony put his arms up on Steve’s shoulders, clasping his hands closed loosely around the back of his neck. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. I mean, I just, I never thought I’d have this,” Steve said. “I didn’t–I didn’t think that, here, in this time, that I would get another chance? That, um, that people would love me again. I thought I was just supposed to save the world. Does that make sense?” 

“You’re crazy, Rogers. Don’t you know that the whole inferiority complex idea is supposed to be my thing?” 

Steve started to reply, but Tony apparently meant the question rhetorically. 

“I’m kidding, babe. But you _are_ crazy, I was being serious about that part. Of course people love you,” Tony affirmed. 

He paused for a split second, and then, “Me, specifically. I ... I love you. Um, I don’t think I’ve said that, yet? I think I said ‘in love,’ but I don’t ... I’m not sure if—oh well. I’m saying it now.” 

He was looking over Steve’s shoulder, to avoid seeing his reaction, and he made locked eyes with Nat across the room. She could tell he was nervous, even if she had no idea what was being said, and she gave him a look of reassurance and encouragement. He immediately felt better. This was all thanks to her, after all. 

“I hope that’s okay,” Tony said, quick and under his breath. And then he looked at Steve, now that he was finished, ready for the consequences. 

“Okay?” Steve questioned, in disbelief. “You have no idea how many days I’ve loved you, do you?” 

He shook his head at Tony’s naivety, no bitterness in the motion or in the quiet laugh that followed, only genuine bewilderment. “And I thought it would never amount to anything more than that, really. Just me being happy if you fell asleep next to me on the couch, or asked me to go somewhere with you, anything. And now? To have this?” Steve turned around, emphasizing that by this he didn’t only mean Tony, but everyone— _this family._

Tony thought back to last night, to the feeling of being in the arms of his favorite person in the world. His tears slipping onto Steve’s skin before he had a chance to be stupid and worry that he shouldn’t let himself feel so much so soon, that he wasn’t worthy of real love, or whatever preposterous ideas his mind might have conjured up had Steve not been there. _You sure everything’s okay?_

_No,_ he thought, in retrospect. Everything is perfect. 

His cheesy internal monologue stopped there— _thank god_ —because Steve leaned down and kissed him, and maybe they should’ve been thinking about the team in the living room and the shit those four would give them for the rest of the week if they saw, but they weren’t thinking about that. They didn’t stop until they were breathless, sweater and apron both wrinkled, their hair sticking up and out in the places the other had ran his hands through, messy and desperate. 

It was Steve who stopped first, thinking he maybe should have finished his thought from before. 

He cleared his throat. “Um, I was saying that I ... I do too. Love you, that is. I love you, too.” 

Tony opened his mouth to say something, but he didn’t have the chance. 

“Hey! Romeos, you think you could stop making out for one minute and take your burning cookies out of the oven?” 

Of _course_ they saw. 

“Oh!” Tony whipped around and opened the oven, and Steve handed him a pot-holder so he could try and save their dessert. 

When he got the tray onto the counter, Tony was pleasantly surprised. They looked ... a little crispy, but definitely edible. 

“See? Told ya they’d be just fine, didn’t I?” 

“Yeah,” Steve admitted, “you did.” His face hurt from smiling. 

Before they could get themselves into another situation which was definitely not appropriate for the kitchen, Nat called out for them to “share some with the rest of us!” 

Tony carried the tray over, Steve at his side, with cookie crumbs falling from his mouth down onto his clothes. 

And maybe it was silly, but all Tony could think was: 

_Wow. I absolutely, positively, adore him._

Coincidentally, Steve was thinking the same thing. 


End file.
